


Riding and Pining

by PuppyWillGraham



Series: In A World of Pure Imagination [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom!Hannibal, M/M, Top!Anthony, mentions of top!Will, riding and pining, that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppyWillGraham/pseuds/PuppyWillGraham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's not the only one with a good imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding and Pining

Dr. Fell— _or rather, Hannibal Lecter_ —is able to hook his leg over the motorcycle with ease, the engine roaring to life as he settles on the seat as if he's been doing that his whole life. Pushing off and forward, he leans closer and focuses on the road ahead. Or tries to, at least.

With the engine purring between his legs, he gets brief flashes of a time from before, never to be forgotten too soon. Yes, he's accustomed to riding the motorcycle by now, but it wasn't always a bike he was riding before now.

He allows himself the indulgence every so often, to remember — feeling not cool metal between his thighs, or even hot metal when the engine is running, but a warm body. _His_. Will Graham's.

Hannibal remembers it as if it wasn't in another lifetime, as if it was yesterday. He rode Will as effortlessly as he now rides the motorcycle through the streets of Italy.

It's not too soon before he's pulling up to a glorious building that's aesthetically appeasing to the once good doctor. Inside, he spots a man that from the back does look like his lost love. If he squints, just a little, he can imagine it's Will, and not Anthony Dimmond.

Soon enough, he's inviting the shorter man for dinner, on the pretense of it being just that. But Hannibal...he wants what he had with Will. He wants it again. He wants to indulge himself.

Anthony seems open to that suggestion, too, if his flirtations are anything to go by. And apparently they are. "So it's _that_ kind of party, huh?"

Bedelia doesn't look too impressed, merely giving Hannibal a look. One that encompasses a lot of complex emotions all in one go, but Hannibal can read between those lines, and he nods.

"Will you be observing, or participating?" He asks her, and she shakes her head.

"Observing."

"From out here?" Both Hannibal and Anthony are standing, both half facing the doorway which leads down a hall towards their main bedroom.

Bedelia gives him another look, one that expresses an affirmative to his question. She doesn't mind him getting a fuck from elsewhere. She knows he's doing it out of some need to reconnect with one of his concepts regarding the empath he's now very well pining over.

What Anthony doesn't know, won't kill him.

The door closes quietly behind the two retreated men and their clothes are already torn away, Hannibal grasping at Will's— _Anthony's_ —stubbled jawline. They look so alike, but Will was always more responsive.

Hannibal is able to hook his leg over Anthony's lap with ease, like he's done so many times before, and he stares down at the younger man cast in shadows and near darkness.

There's a simple desperation to Hannibal's movements as his hips rock forward and down, then back and up, a low grumble sounding in his chest as the movements become more swift in repetition.

There's a devastating grace to the whole act as Will's name builds up from the back of Hannibal's throat, never to be released, unlike his climax which is released soon enough after the man reaches his peak.

He then does something he never did with Will — he slips off of Anthony's lap before the younger man even has a chance to finish. It's selfish and cruel, but Hannibal rarely was one to indulge in other people's pleasure rather than just his own.

He feels nothing as he turns away and waits for Anthony to finish over his own chest, scrunching up his nose at the smell assaulting his olfactory senses. _Distasteful_. By the time he's gotten cleaned up and redressed, the younger man has left.

"Satisfied?" Bedelia asks him simply, perched on the edge of the bed after the sheets have been stripped from the mattress.

"Yes," he lies. "Very."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! any comments, kudos and bookmarks are highly appreciated.


End file.
